


Hostage Of Fortune

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, False Accusations, Guns, Handcuffs, Hostage Situations, M/M, On the Run, Sexual Content, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. On the run for a murder he swears he didn't commit, Athos is forced by circumstance to take a stranger, Porthos, hostage - but is he telling the truth and can he convince Porthos of his innocence whilst holding him at gunpoint?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The road was narrow and steep, and in the dark it took all of Athos' concentration to keep the car on the road. He knew he was travelling too fast for the conditions, the slushy snow kept threatening to drag the wheels out from under him, but the lights and sirens were not yet far enough behind to risk slowing down.

Some way on, over the brow of the hill and as yet out of sight of Athos, another man had not been so lucky. A car rested at an awkward angle in a ditch, one of its back wheels in the air.

Leaning disconsolately against the rear passenger door, Porthos looked up in sudden hope at the sound of an approaching vehicle. With no mobile signal and no hope of getting his car back on the road by himself, he'd been resigned to a long cold walk to civilisation - but now perhaps he was saved. If it was something large like a Land Rover they could perhaps tow him out - if not, at least give him a lift to the nearest garage.

As the headlights crested the hill he stepped out into the road and made to wave down the driver. To his consternation the car seemed to speed up a little, steering out in readiness to drive straight past him.

Porthos, indignant and somewhat desperate, threw himself into the path of the oncoming vehicle in an effort to force them to stop. Even as he acted, he knew what a stupid move this was - he risked being flattened or making the other car swerve off the road, and also realised belatedly that it might well be a lone woman driver who was hardly going to stop for a strange man suddenly looming out of the shadows at night.

All of this went through his head in the fraction of time it took the car to fishtail to an emergency stop just inches from his knees, and Porthos leaned on the bonnet weakly.

He made his way round to the driver's window that was whirring down, and looked inside, resting an arm on the roof.

"Sorry about that, but I've had an accident and I wonder if you could - " Porthos broke off in sudden frozen disbelief. The driver of the car was pointing a gun at him through the open window.

"What - ?" was all he could manage. The sight of the gun made his mind go blank, it was so unexpected and so very chilling. 

Was it a toy, a replica, he wondered. You didn't expect to come across people carrying deadly looking handguns in the middle of the countryside, not in this country. And then he heard, far down in the valley, the wail of police sirens, and realised that in all probability it was genuine, and that he was in deep shit.

"Get in." The driver jerked the gun, and Porthos blinked. 

"What?"

"I said get in!" Up to now the driver had been staring back at him in almost as much confusion as Porthos

Porthos contemplated making a run for it, but the idea of getting a bullet in his back was hideous, and in any case his legs felt like jelly. He stumbled round to the passenger door and climbed inside the car.

"Open the glove box."

"What?"

He got an exasperated look in return. "Is that the only word you know? Open the damn glove box, there's a pair of handcuffs in there. Put them on."

Hands shaking, Porthos did as he was instructed, and sure enough found a set of metal cuffs. "Why the hell have you got a pair of handcuffs in your car?"

"Maybe my wife likes rough sex. Shut up and do as you're told. Loop them through the handle."

Porthos obeyed. He was regretting getting in now, but it was too late. When it was done, the driver nodded and stuck the gun in the door pocket and started off again at high speed. Porthos wished he'd put his seatbelt on first, but he'd thought it would hamper his chances of escape.

"Who are you?"

"Nobody."

"I'm Porthos," he ventured, thinking that was what they told you to do wasn't it, initiate conversation, get them thinking of you as a person not a target.

"Why would I care?"

"Well you abducted me, that implies a certain level of interest," Porthos retorted before he could stop himself. He was annoyed, he liked to think he'd be good in a crisis, but being confronted with an actual gun had made him go utterly blank. To his relief, his captor's mouth twitched in what might almost have been a smile. 

"Fine." The man sighed. "I suppose it hardly matters now does it. My name's Athos."

"What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything!"

"Okay. Okay, fine," Porthos tried to sound placating. "What do _they_ think you've done?"

Sirens and lights down in the valley, glimpsed between the trees. Heading in the wrong direction by the looks of things, but on these roads it was hard to tell. Athos was driving far too fast, but after the first few hair raising corners at high speed, Porthos began to realise he did at least have the ability to get away with it.

"They think I killed my wife."

Porthos' blood ran cold. "Did you?"

"No!"

"Alright, fine, sorry." Porthos held up his hands, as far as he could at the awkward angle the cuffs allowed. "Do you think you might want to slow down a bit?" he ventured, as Athos went into a skid on the sheet ice, only to steer out of it with a minimum of muttered swearing and hold the road. 

"Not really," Athos said dryly. "Not having gone to all this trouble."

"Why do they think you killed her?" Porthos asked after a moment, when Athos had fallen silent again. He wasn't sure this was the most calming topic of conversation, nor was distracting a man driving hell for leather through icy roads in the dark, but keeping him talking had to be good, right?

"I came home to find the place covered in blood. Police arrived about a minute after me, had been tipped off."

"If you didn’t kill her, who did?"

Athos snorted. "I don’t believe she's dead. There was certainly no body. They were trying to get me to tell them what I'd done with her."

"If it's not her blood though - they'd be able to tell. You might be in the clear?"

"Probably is hers. Wouldn't put it past the cold hearted bitch to open a vein just to spite me."

"You think she's setting you up?"

"I know she is." Athos sounded bewildered and angry all at once. "Apparently she's been telling the police I've been threatening her, that she was afraid for her life. And that I'd taken out a huge life insurance policy on her."

"But you hadn't?" 

"No." Athos hesitated. “But it turns out there is one, in my name. I had nothing to do with it." 

Porthos looked at him in the dim light. He looked tense and angry and defiant and dangerous. But if he was maintaining his innocence, maybe he would be reluctant to use the gun. 

"Why did you take me hostage then if you're not a killer?" he asked.

Athos looked sideways at him and nearly went into a tree.

"Shit! Sorry." He steered hastily back onto the road, and the incongruity of his apology almost made Porthos laugh. "You saw me," Athos explained, a little sheepishly. "You could have told them which way I was going."

"Surely if you reckon she's still alive they're the best placed people to look for her? Wouldn't you be better off handing yourself in?"

Athos shook his head frustratedly. "They think she's dead, they'll be looking in the wrong places. They'll be dragging the rivers and looking in hedgerows. All the while she's probably holed up in a suite at the Ritz for all I know. They don't believe me." He looked quickly at Porthos and sighed. "You don't believe me either do you?"

"Course I do."

Athos snorted. "Don't lie to the nice man with the gun."

"The fact I'm currently manacled to a car _by_ a madman with a gun, does rather make me less inclined to believe he's innocent in the first place. Now if you were to let me go..."

"Nice try. But no, sorry, I can't risk it. Look - Porthos, was it? Just - do as I say, alright? Behave yourself. And I give you my word I won't hurt you."

"Where are we even going? People are going to notice if you march me out at gunpoint." 

"Not where we're headed they won't." Athos pulled in at the side of the road and felt in his pockets until he came up with a key. "Here. Undo yourself from the door and put them back on." He got out of the car and walked round to cover the passenger side, while Porthos got out.

"What are you doing?" Porthos asked, nervous that he was about to get a bullet to his head regardless of Athos' words, but Athos took the keys back and jerked his head at a gap in the hedge.

"Through there."

"I'm hardly dressed for snow," Porthos protested. He was wearing lace-up canvas gym shoes and a light fleece.

"My heart bleeds. Now get moving, before yours does."

Porthos did as he was told. Standing up he could see he was considerably bigger and heavier than Athos, and wondered if he should try and overpower him, but Athos was standing out of reach and covering him calmly with the gun.

"Don't," Athos said quietly. "Do as I say, and we can both get through this. Don't be a hero." 

Miserably hunched against the cold night wind, Porthos trudged along in front of Athos, round the edge of two fields and down a muddy track apparently used by cattle, until they came to a stream.

"Now what?" Porthos asked, looking round.

"Into the water. Go upstream"

"You're kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Athos waved the gun at him. "If they come after us with dogs this'll confuse them."

Reluctantly, Porthos stepped into the water. It was fast but reasonably shallow, and he splashed along the stream bed with tired resignation. After what felt like years, his feet numb with cold and his jeans dragging heavily round his calves, Athos touched him on the shoulder. "Up here."

A dark opening in the hedge showed on his right and he staggered up a rutted track leading uphill until Athos touched him again and forced him to climb over a stile into anther field. In the corner of this was a wooden cabin, and it appeared to be this Athos was making for.

The place was dark and deserted, and Porthos leaned against the wall, panting. "So now what? You break in?"

"Shouldn't need to. Somewhere around here - " Athos was feeling under the lip of the doorstep, and Porthos realised for the first time his concentration was on something other than him. There was a pile of wood next to him and he picked up a large piece of timber, moving stealthily towards Athos and lifting it over his back.

Athos turned and suddenly there was a gun in his face. "Drop it."

Porthos, caught out, gaped at him and then lowered it looking embarrassed. "Just thought we might need to make a fire," he muttered.

Athos unlocked the door with the key he'd found and gestured for Porthos to go inside.

It was dark and cold, but dry and out of the wind. Athos drew the curtain across the window before turning on a lamp, avoiding the main lights.

"Over there. Get on the floor." 

For a stomach pitching second Porthos thought he was going to shoot him anyway, but Athos dug the handcuff keys out of his pocket and threw them over. 

"Lock yourself around the radiator." He held the gun on him steadily.

"You won't shoot me," Porthos said, trying to sound firm. "You said you weren't a killer, remember?"

"No I didn't. I said I didn’t kill my wife," corrected Athos flatly. "Besides, I could always shoot you in the leg. Stop stalling."

Porthos did as he was told. He hadn't liked that implied suggestion that Athos had killed someone else, one little bit. 

The safest thing, for the moment, was to do as he was told, and Porthos undid the cuffs, looped them through the pipework and the bottom of the heavy cast iron radiator, and snapped it back on his wrist. His skin was sore where they'd been rubbing, especially now the feeling was coming back into them.

Satisfied he was secure, Athos set the gun on the table and sank into a chair himself, rubbing his eyes and groaning slightly. 

"You alright?" Porthos asked. It was still in his mind that the best thing he could do here was try and build a relationship, gain his trust. 

"I've had better days," said Athos, dryly. He stood up again and did a quick circuit of the cabin, pulling all the curtains and familiarising himself with the space.

When he came back into the living room Porthos was pulling at the pipework and broke off looking guilty as he reappeared.

"You won’t shift that, I helped put it in," Athos told him without anger. "It's not going anywhere." He went over to the woodburner and examined it, ducking out of the front door quickly to fetch some logs.

"Told you we'd need wood," Porthos said, and Athos almost smiled, although he didn’t reply.

"Is this your place?" Porthos persisted, taking heart from the fact Athos had held his temper in the face of provocation.

"No. Belongs to a friend." Having got a fire going, Athos sat down again and stared at the flames rather blankly. 

"So now what?" Porthos asked. "We sit here all night? They'll be looking for you. They'll come here sooner or later."

Athos shook his head slightly, but didn’t answer.

"You don’t have a clue what you're doing, do you?" Porthos realised suddenly. "You don’t have a plan, you're making this up as you go along."

"It all came as such a shock," Athos said distantly. "It's not like I had time to think about it."

"You could still let me go. Holding me hostage isn't going to do you any favours."

"You'd tell them where I was," Athos sighed. "And I may yet need a bargaining advantage."

"Far as they're concerned, you're armed and dangerous," Porthos pointed out. "They'll probably shoot you on sight."

Athos stood up suddenly and Porthos flinched, but he only went over to the kitchen units and started hunting through cupboards. He found some tins of soup and heated it on the stove. Porthos watched, hopeful that he might get some. It had been hours since he'd eaten, and his stomach was growling at the smell.

When it was ready Athos brought a bowl over for him, setting it on the floor with a spoon.

Porthos lifted up his hands, chained a few inches off the floor. He could feed himself, but only if he ate on his knees.

"I'm not an animal," he objected.

"You forfeited your right to freedom when you tried to hit me over the head," Athos said. "You only have yourself to blame."

Porthos grumbled but Athos ignored him, sitting at the table to eat his own. Afterwards Athos shared out a packet of biscuits he found, and then looking through another cupboard came up with a bottle of wine.

"Don't I get any?" Porthos asked, watching Athos pour himself a glass.

Athos considered, then poured some into a plastic beaker and carried it across. 

"What am I, twelve?"

"You could use a broken glass as a weapon," Athos said. 

Porthos looked him over cagily. There was a professional calmness about the way he held the gun that suggested a familiarity with it, and Porthos couldn't decide if that worked in his favour or not. It meant the man was less likely to panic and shoot him without really meaning to. On the other hand, if he decided it was necessary, he had little doubt Athos would carry out his threat.

"So. Your friend not likely to walk in on us then?" Porthos said, somewhat hopefully, but Athos shook his head. 

"Treville rents it out in the summer. He's not likely to come near the place in this weather."

"Tell me what happened."

"Why? You don’t believe me."

"Convince me," Porthos suggested. "It's not like I'm going anywhere, is it? You said the police wouldn’t listen. Well, I don’t have a choice."

Athos thought for a while. "I came home and the place was covered in blood. The gun was on the table."

"You normally leave guns lying around the place?"

"No, it's normally locked away. I picked it up."

"And the police burst in to find you holding it?" Porthos guessed. "I'm guessing you don’t watch a lot of crime drama?"

There it was again, that ghost of an almost-smile.

"It would have had my prints on it anyway." Athos sighed, stretching his feet out towards the fire. As an afterthought, he pulled the cushion off one of the other chairs and tossed it across to Porthos.

"They said she'd come to them before. Saying I'd been making threats. Telling them she was afraid for her life. Apparently she'd made a call a few minutes earlier, and it had ended with a scream and a shot."

"How did you get away?" Porthos asked. "I don’t imagine they let you out for a breath of air."

"I convinced them I needed the toilet. They let me go because the window was too small for me to squeeze through. What they didn’t know was the frame was rotten. I'd been meaning to get round to fixing it for months. I managed to kick the whole thing out, was away before they knew I'd gone."

"So what is your plan?"

"I need to find her. I need to prove she's still alive, to prove my innocence." Athos looked at him. "You don’t believe me, do you?"

Porthos frowned. "Let's say I'd be more inclined to be sympathetic if I wasn’t currently chained to a radiator."

Athos looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Oh, what's the point. Who am I kidding." He dug the keys out and threw them across. 

Porthos looked at him warily then unlocked the cuffs, rubbing his wrists in relief. He stood up cautiously. Athos didn’t move, was sitting on the floor by the woodburner with his back to the couch.

Porthos hesitated. He should go. But on the other hand, it was the middle of the night, he had no idea where he was, and no transport. It was dark and snowy and cold.

The gun was resting near Athos' hand on the floor. Porthos slowly bent and picked it up. It was heavier than he expected, and for a second he considered forcing Athos to cuff himself in his place, while he called the police. Except he suspected Athos would refuse and call his bluff. He set it carefully on the table and stepped thankfully away from it.

Athos was watching him now, as if puzzled that he hadn't made an immediate run for it.

Porthos made up his mind, came over and sat next to him on the floor.

"So." He said. "Where do you reckon she's gone then?"

Athos looked at him, bewildered. "You can go, if you want," he said quietly. "I won't stop you."

Porthos shrugged. "Where am I going to go? Come on, talk to me."

"Well. There are a few places I can think of she might have gone," Athos said finally, seemingly accepting Porthos' intention to stay. "We have a flat in the city - I don't think she'd go there, but it needs to be checked. And there are a couple of hotels she's used before."

"She goes to hotels when you've got a flat there?" Porthos frowned.

Athos shrugged delicately. "We've had our ups and downs." 

"I'd say trying to frame you for murder's definitely more of a down," Porthos snorted. "What about friends?" 

"Most are mutual, I don't think there are any she'd trust not to give her away. Unless - " he looked thoughtful. "There is someone. She doesn't especially trust him, but he'd be the type to back her in something like this just because he hates me."

"So what's the plan? Go round the various addresses looking for her? Mate, your picture's going to be all over the national news by now."

Athos sighed. "What else can I do? I have nowhere to go."

"What about this Treville bloke?"

Athos nodded slowly. "He'd hide me. He'd probably even believe me. But what would he get in return, a jail term for aiding and abetting. I can't hide in an attic for the next twenty years. I need to clear my name, and to do that I need to find her."

Porthos drained his cup and reached for the bottle. Athos smiled slightly. "You can have a glass instead if you want," he said. Porthos laughed.

"Nah, I'll stick with this. You can get more in it, anyway," he added, topping up Athos' glass as well.

They sat and stared at the flames through the door of the woodburner in silence for a while, their trousers gradually drying out. "I'm sorry," Athos said softly, after a while. "For bringing you here, for everything. Will there be people worried when you don't come home?"

"No, I live alone," Porthos said without thinking, and then realised that if Athos was still harbouring any violent intentions towards him, that might not have been the smartest answer. He looked sideways at him. "Er, I mean, yes, there's a whole family that will have called the police by now."

Athos smirked at him and Porthos gave a rueful laugh. "I'm not very good at this," he said. "I've never been a hostage before."

"I've never taken one before," Athos said. "I guess we can learn together."

Porthos cackled. "I like it better without the cuffs." He eyed Athos curiously. "You never did tell me exactly why you had a pair of handcuffs in your car."

"Yes I did."

"You said - oh." Porthos blinked. "Okay. I thought you were kidding."

"Like I said. Ups and downs."

\--

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Athos let Porthos take the bedroom, while he himself stretched out on the couch. He didn't sleep much, too wound up and tense, and lay there watching the sky grow lighter beyond the curtains. Up to now he'd been acting on instinct, but Porthos was right, how could he expect to move freely in daylight when everyone would be looking for him?

A movement made him look round, and he found Porthos standing in the doorway to the bedroom wrapped in a blanket.

"I've got an idea," Porthos said. "I've thought it through, and it's the only solution."

"Then I'm all ears," said Athos, moving up to give Porthos room to sit down. "Because unless you can come up with a miracle, I'm sunk."

"Let me go and look for her. I could go round all those places you mentioned no problem, and come back here afterwards, while you stay out of sight."

Athos stared at him in astonishment. "Why would you do that? After everything I've done?"

Porthos shrugged. "I suppose - " he hesitated. "I suppose I just believe you." 

"You don't know what she looks like."

"Describe her then. Besides, soon as I get a phone signal her picture's probably all over the news."

Athos got up and made them tea. There was no milk, so they drank it black, while Athos wrote down all the places he could think of to look. "Are you sure about this?"

Porthos looked at him. In the early morning light Athos looked tired and beaten, and Porthos felt rather sorry for him. He didn't come across as dangerous, although Porthos suspected it would be a mistake to underestimate him. 

"Yes."

Athos nodded. "Then I'm in your hands."

Porthos hid a smile in his tea mug. That was certainly an image he didn't object to.

"You know what, you should probably shave off the beard," Porthos said. "It'd make you a bit less recognisable."

"I'm attached to this beard," Athos muttered, automatically putting a hand up to his face rather defensively.

"More so than your liberty?"

"Fair point."

Porthos left just before nine, and Athos watched him go with a certain anxiety. More snow had fallen in the night, and he'd advised Porthos to go back the way they'd come, following the bridlepath to the road and leaving the snowy driveway up to the cabin undisturbed. 

He watched him disappear across the field, and wondered pensively if he was doing the right thing, or whether armed police would descend on the place as soon as Porthos got a phone signal.

\--

Darkness had fallen over the cabin, as the short winter's day came to an end. Headlights lit up the driveway and Porthos paused on the road, looking up towards what his scrutiny of the map told him should be the right track. 

The snow was now churned up with wheelmarks, and he wondered if Athos had been apprehended after all. But he'd had the radio on, and there'd been nothing about a capture, so he made up his mind and drove on towards the cabin.

All was dark, and he got out and tried the door, finding it locked. He knocked cautiously.

"Athos? Athos it's me." And then, as an afterthought, "I'm alone."

After a long pause, there was a rattle at the lock, and Athos peered cautiously out.

Cold, Porthos shouldered his way in, and Athos quickly closed and relocked the door behind him, finally risking switching the lamp on.

They stared at each other in some surprise. Athos had taken his advice and shaved his beard off, and looked drastically younger and surprisingly vulnerable.

"I didn't think you'd really come back," Athos said finally.

"Yeah, well. I must be daft." Porthos gave him a crooked smile. "Didn't really think you'd still be here, for that matter."

"I must be daft too." Athos said quietly. They smiled at each other, the hesitant trust of the morning getting slowly stronger.

"I brought dinner," said Porthos, swinging a bag up onto the table. "I hope you like curry."

"God, yes, I'm famished." Athos looked rather stunned, and Porthos gave him a little push.

"Find us some plates then. And a bottle opener, I brought some beer." Porthos pulled a chair out and sat down as Athos clattered about in the cupboards.

"You had visitors?" Porthos asked, remembering the tyre tracks outside. 

Athos sat opposite him, looking pale. "It was the police. They knocked on the door and called out a few times, but all the lights were off and I hid under the bed." Athos looked sheepish. "I guess they're just checking the area." 

Porthos studied him over his beer, wondering how scared Athos had been, hiding alone in the dark. He couldn't imagine having to face going to prison. Especially if he didn't deserve it. He realised with a slight sense of surprise that he was inclined to believe Athos now, even though the day hadn't been particularly conclusive.

"You're all over the news," he declared. "Armed and considered dangerous, do not approach."

Athos gave a faint smile. "Bit late for that."

Porthos snorted. "Ex army, they reckon?"

"Where do you think I got the gun," Athos murmured. 

"Not meant to hang on to 'em, are you?"

"They do tend to frown on it, yes."

Porthos looked at him. "Possible PTSD, they're saying," he ventured gently.

Athos shook his head. "No one really comes back unscathed. But no, nothing that bad." He sighed. "I told you, she was telling lies about me. Making me out to be unhinged."

"Suspected alcohol dependency?"

Athos tilted his head and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Probably can't really dispute that one, to be fair." He drained his beer and picked up another with an ironic tip of the bottle to Porthos. "We all have our own ways of coping."

"Anyway," Athos continued, changing the subject. "How did you get on?"

As they dug into the food Porthos related the events of his day. It had started with a long and tedious walk into the nearest village three miles away, where he finally picked up enough phone signal to call a garage with a view to pulling out his stranded car. 

It transpired that his car had already been recovered and was in the possession of an irritable local constable, who Porthos then had to spend another hour convincing that he was the owner and apologising for abandoning it the night before, and leaving the accident unreported.

"It was late, I just wanted to get home," Porthos had lied, wondering as he did so why he was bothering. Why not just tell the truth? He owed Athos nothing, and he could get into substantial trouble for helping him. But something held him back, and he'd stayed quiet.

Finally he'd been allowed to go, and having endured another lecture on how lucky he was, and didn't he know that there was a dangerous murderer on the loose, Porthos had made apologetic noises and escaped as soon as he was able.

"Well. There was no sign of life at your flat. I did the rounds of the hotels you suggested. Nearly got arrested for loitering, checked out the lobbies, saw a few possibilities but no one who really matched the pictures on the news." Porthos flicked through a few shots on his phone and Athos shook his head at each of them. The last image was one Porthos had saved for reference, the one being used by all the news sites for most dramatic impact. It showed Athos and his wife smiling for the camera, both of them in smart evening wear. 

Athos turned away. "Happier times," he murmured. He pushed the remains of his curry around on the plate, then set down his fork, appetite gone. "No luck, then. No sign of her." It had been a long shot.

"I tried that final address you gave me too. Couldn't get close, 'cause the gates were locked, but - there is a woman there. Dark hair, about the right build. But I was too far away to get a good look."

"Did you get a picture?" Athos asked, looking up sharply.

"Yeah, hang on." Porthos fiddled with his phone and held it out. It showed a blurry figure some way distant, side-on to the camera.

"That's her." Athos stared at the picture in faint shock. "That's Milady."

"Are you sure?" Porthos asked dubiously. "It could be anyone. What if it's just this bloke's wife?"

"Rochefort's not married."

"Athos - " Porthos hesitated. "I know you want it to be her. Do you not think that might be clouding your judgement?"

Athos looked at him. "I know my own wife. Would you not recognise a woman you knew intimately?"

Porthos snorted. "I don't know any women intimately. Not really my thing," he said quietly, wondering how Athos would take that. You could never tell.

Athos just raised an eyebrow. "Man then. You'd recognise a boyfriend wouldn't you? Even at that distance?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

Athos almost laughed, handing back the phone and shaking his head in frustration. "You must be close to someone. I'm just trying to make a point."

Porthos relaxed a little. "I suppose so. Yeah, okay. I guess you could be right. So what now? What if it is her? You can't just march in there and accost her, she'll claim she was in hiding, that she was afraid you'd come to finish the job." 

The uncomfortable thought that this might be exactly what Athos was doing crossed his mind, and Porthos shifted in his chair, glancing round surreptitiously and wondering where the gun was.

Athos guessed what he was thinking and sighed. "I'm not trying to kill her. I just want my life back."

Porthos nodded slowly. He'd spent most of the day questioning his own motives, not to mention wondering if he was being taken for a ride. He conceded that he was attracted to Athos, but he wasn't daft enough to imagine there was any hope there. There was just something about the man that made Porthos want to help him.

"We need to get you out of here," Porthos said. "Chances are the police'll be back with a search warrant for all the local hidey-holes if they decide you haven't skipped the country."

"Where can I go?" Athos asked helplessly. "They'll be watching the flat, they have to be. And I have hardly any money on me, I can't go to a hotel. And if I use my bank card they'll trace me."

"Come with me then," Porthos said, making up his mind. "I live on my own, no one'll see you. Let's go now, while it's dark. It'll buy us some time, at least."

Athos looked up at that 'us', and smiled briefly with a bemused gratitude. "Why _are_ you helping me?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining, but - you must know you could get yourself into a lot of trouble."

Porthos shrugged awkwardly. "Don't look a gifthorse in the mouth. Maybe my life's just that dull, eh?"

"Then I hope I don't bring you more excitement than is comfortable," Athos murmured. 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

The long drive back into the city was a tense one. They had no reason to suppose the police would take any notice of two men in a car, and Athos was certainly less immediately recognisable now he was clean-shaven, but they both flinched at every distant flash of blue lights, and Athos shaded his face from traffic cameras every time they went under a bridge.

The sense of paranoia grew until Porthos parked in the underground lot beneath his apartment block, and they took the bleak concrete fire escape stairs up rather than the lift because Porthos couldn't remember if there was a camera in it.

Finally making it into Porthos' flat, they closed the door behind them with a palpable sense of relief and leaned against it, breathing hard. They looked at each other, and slowly started to laugh.

"God I need a drink." Porthos closed all the curtains and opened the fridge, hauling out a bottle of wine. "White okay for you?"

"More than okay." Athos smiled, leaning back against the kitchen table. "You're an angel, and I might have to start worshipping you. You're certainly my saviour."

Porthos busied himself with finding glasses, and hoped Athos couldn't tell he was blushing. He told himself sternly that Athos was just being silly and absolutely not flirting with him, but he still couldn't prevent the smile that fixed itself to his face.

"So. Now what?" They settled at the table with the wine, and Porthos leaned forward interrogatively. "We need a plan. We need to get in there and find out if it's her. And then - " he faltered. "I dunno. Tell the police?"

Before Athos could answer, there was a knock on the front door of the flat, and they both jumped. 

"Expecting visitors?" Athos asked, halfway to his feet and looking wary.

"No." Porthos shook his head vehemently, guessing Athos was afraid he'd been set up. "Besides, it's practically the middle of the night, who goes calling at this time? It's probably just a neighbour, they'll go away."

"Porthos? You back?" A voice called from outside, and there was the sound of rattling in the lock.

"Shit, it's Aramis, he's got a key." Porthos shot to his feet but it was too late, as the door swung open and a man came in.

"Porthos, there you are! Where the heck were you last night, I thought we were going for a drink - oh." Aramis belatedly realised Porthos had company and drew up short. "Sorry." He grinned apologetically at Porthos. "You weren't answering your phone, I should have realised." He gave Athos an appraising look, assuming Porthos had got lucky, then went very still.

Athos looked back at him silently, tensed to spring. His hand slipped inside his jacket, waiting for Aramis' reaction. 

"Hello." Aramis forced himself to nod casually. "I'm Aramis. I, er. Live upstairs. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. I'll - just be going." He backed cautiously towards the door, and it was painfully obvious to everyone that he'd recognised Athos from the news, beard or no beard.

"Sorry. I think you'd better stay where you are." Athos was on his feet, gun in hand, and Aramis froze. His eyes flicked to Porthos, both alarmed and apologetic, assuming he'd just muffed his rescue. To his surprise Porthos looked more exasperated than frightened.

"Look, let's not be hasty," Porthos said to Athos, hands out calmingly. "Put the gun down, there's no need."

"He knows who I am." Athos' gaze was still on Aramis, aim unwavering.

"He won't tell. Will you?" Porthos glared meaningfully at Aramis who quickly shook his head.

"Absolutely not. I've not seen a thing. So, I'll just walk out of here and - "

"Sit down." Athos jerked the gun and Aramis shook his head. 

"If you shoot me, it'll be heard. You won't risk it."

"You'd still be dead. I suggest you don't try me."

Porthos sighed, and then went to stand deliberately in front of Aramis. He stood there chewing his lip nervously as Athos held the gun on him for a long moment, then Athos groaned in disgust and put it away.

"Sit down." This time it was Porthos saying it, and Aramis tentatively did as he was told. "You too." Porthos looked up at Athos, who sighed. 

"I need another drink." He walked over to the fridge and Aramis leaned across the table and grabbed Porthos' hand.

"What the hell's going on? Do you know who this is?"

"What, you think it might have escaped my notice?" Porthos said dryly. "He was set up, okay?"

"How do you know?" Aramis hissed. "How do you even know him?"

Porthos hesitated. Telling Aramis Athos had taken him hostage was hardly going to inspire trust. "I just - ran into him, okay? He needs help."

"He needs locking up. He's armed!"

"He's innocent."

"How do you know?" Aramis repeated, frustrated and confused. 

"I just do. I trust him." Porthos shrugged helplessly, knowing how thin it sounded. 

Aramis looked over his shoulder at where Athos was still at the fridge, apparently giving Porthos the time to convince him. "Porthos, is he holding you here against your will?" he asked, lowering his voice further.

"No. I'm helping him." 

"Why for God's sake?" Aramis glanced from Porthos to Athos and back again. "Oh, please tell me you don't fancy him?"

Porthos shrugged uncomfortably and Aramis stared at him, incredulous. "Porthos! He's a wanted man! A murderer. And probably a psychopath!"

"Cute though," Porthos muttered, attempting to make a joke of it, but Aramis wasn't laughing.

"He killed his wife, Porthos."

"No, he didn't. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"Either way, the key point in that sentence was wife," Aramis shot back. "He's straight, right? What, you think he's going to be so grateful he's going to miraculously fall into bed with you?"

"No, of course not," Porthos said awkwardly. "And would you mind keeping your voice down?"

Athos, having run out of plausible excuses to stay by the fridge any longer, came back over and sat down. He eyed Aramis distrustfully, and was met with an equally baleful glare. Porthos sighed.

"Look, what was the name of that journalist you dated?" he asked Aramis suddenly. 

"D'Artagnan?" Aramis looked surprised. "I wouldn't say I dated him exactly."

"Banged then. I was being discreet."

Aramis snorted. "What about him?"

Porthos glanced at Athos. "We think we know where Milady's hiding out. But we need someone capable of getting inside the house to check, and we need someone capable of getting Athos' side of the story out there. Do you think he'd be interested? It'd be an exclusive for him."

"I can ask." Aramis looked less than convinced, and Athos didn't seem much more enthusiastic. 

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Athos asked. It seemed to him that more people were leaning his whereabouts by the minute, and he wasn't comfortable.

"He's a good kid," Aramis nodded. "And if you can convince him, he'll move heaven and earth for a good story." He folded his arms. "First though, before I bring him into a room with a gun-wielding nutter, you have to convince me. And you'd better make it good."

\--

Eventually, Aramis was satisfied enough with Athos' explanations - or at least suitably persuaded by Porthos' genuine trust in the man - to make the call to d'Artagnan. Despite the fact it was by now well past midnight he was still up, and although surprised to hear from Aramis, was easily convinced to come over at the promise of a scoop.

Aramis had remained vague about the details and so when d'Artagnan arrived half an hour later, he had no inkling of what - or who - was involved.

When the entry buzzer went from the ground floor, Athos removed himself to stand behind the inner door in a space too small to deserve the name hallway, from which doors opened onto Porthos' bedroom, a bathroom and a cupboard. With the door cracked slightly open, Athos watched as they let d'Artagnan in, and his heart sank a little. The boy looked about twelve, he thought uncharitably, although if he'd been sleeping with Aramis presumably he was rather more than that.

"D'Artagnan. Good to see you again." Aramis gave him a one-armed hug which d'Artagnan returned willingly enough. He cast a curious glance at Porthos who gave him a sheepish wave. "This is my friend Porthos," Aramis told him. "He's - ah - got a proposal for you."

"Oh yes?" D'Artagnan looked faintly amused, perhaps wondering exactly what the nature of this proposal was going to be and not looking particularly averse to some of the options.

"How would you like to help clear a man's name?" Porthos asked. 

"Are you in trouble then?" d'Artagnan asked, sitting opposite him while Aramis went to put the kettle on again.

"Not me, no," Porthos said cautiously, thinking that actually he probably was by now, but that couldn't be helped. "You'll've seen the news reports I presume? The de Winter murder?"

D'Artagnan nodded, wondering now where this was going. Porthos hesitated, resisting the urge to look towards where Athos was standing, out of sight. 

"What if I told you he was innocent?"

D'Artagnan frowned, considering his response. "Then who killed her?" he asked neutrally.

"No one. She's not dead. They've not produced the body, have they?"

"They're saying he hid it." 

"Hid it where? He was still standing in the house holding the gun when the police arrived, if he'd had time to stash her somewhere far enough away that they still haven't found her, he'd hardly have gone back to the house, would he?"

"How do you know all that?" D'Artagnan asked, looking wary. "About where they found him? That's not been on the news. And I've been following it."

The extremely nasty thought occurred to Porthos that he only had Athos' word for any of this. What if he was playing him after all? What if everything he'd said had been a lie from start to finish? But then, Athos had let him go, hadn't he? He hadn't had to do that. And he'd waited for him. Porthos could easily have returned to the cabin with a load of armed police, but Athos had trusted him. It had to work both ways.

"What if - hypothetically - I knew where he was?" Porthos said slowly. "What if I said I'd spoken to him? That - that I think I know where his wife is hiding out?"

"That's where you come in, by the way," said Aramis, placing mugs of tea in front of them. "We need someone to get in there and find out if it's her."

"And if it isn't?"

"It is," said Porthos firmly. "Look, either way it's not going to hurt, is it? And if you find her, you get all the credit, right? And an exclusive interview with the wronged man."

Suddenly D'Artagnan was looking about him uneasily. "He's here, isn't he?"

Porthos shook his head. "No way. You think we'd be that daft? He's miles away."

"Then why has Aramis just made four mugs of tea?"

As one, the three of them turned to look at where a lone mug was still steaming gently to itself on the counter.

Porthos gave Aramis a disgusted look. "You plum."

Aramis cleared his throat. "Ah - sorry. I didn't think."

Behind them, with a slight sigh, Athos pushed the door open and came slowly in. Porthos was relieved to see the gun wasn't in evidence, but d'Artagnan still leapt to his feet in alarm.

Athos held his hands up peaceably. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly. "I just want a chance to put my side of things across. That's got to be worth something to you as a story hasn't it? Whatever happens." He looked bleak and rather resigned, and Porthos felt an overwhelming urge to go over and hug him. Instead, he went to fetch Athos his tea, and gave him his chair. 

"Please?" he said to d'Artagnan, who was still wavering between acute fright and the seductive allure of a story that nobody else had. "Hear him out. You're free to go, any time you like. You can be the guy responsible for getting him arrested, if that's what you want. And his accomplices," Porthos added, figuring it wouldn't hurt to remind d'Artagnan that he'd be getting Aramis into trouble was well. "Or you can be the one to break the bigger story. See justice done."

Slowly, d'Artagnan retook his seat, and took out a recorder from his pocket. He set it up on the table between them, and nodded to Athos. "Go on then. I'm listening."

\--

"It could be her," D'Artagnan agreed, sliding the phone back across the table to Porthos. "On the other hand it _could_ be anyone."

"But you're convinced?" Porthos pressed, ignoring the fact that he'd made exactly the same argument himself. "That it's worth investigating?"

"Will I get paid for this?" D'Artagnan enquired. "If it turns out I can't sell the story?" 

They all looked at each other.

"I don't have any money," Athos sighed. "Certainly not that I can get at."

"How about if Aramis sucks you off instead?" Porthos offered, prompting an indignant explosion from Aramis himself.

"Excuse me! I don't remember agreeing to that!"

Porthos grinned at him. "So you won't then?"

Aramis hesitated, flicking a glance at d'Artagnan and clearing his throat. "Well. I suppose I might be persuaded to take one for the team," he muttered. 

This exchange did at least have the result of lightening the mood, with d'Artagnan openly laughing and even Athos looking amused. 

"So you'll do it?" Porthos was anxious to get some sort of promise out of d'Artagnan before he left. D'Artagnan leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. 

"Yeah, alright. I suppose so."

Athos visibly slumped with relief, and Porthos, standing behind him, squeezed his shoulder in silent support.

"Will you go now?" Athos asked, and d'Artagnan snorted. 

"It's nearly three AM, do you imagine they'd let me in, regardless of how good my cover story was? It'll wait till morning. Tell me more about this Rochefort."

"He's an arsehole," said Athos flatly, and d'Artagnan gave a huff of laughter.

"I was kind've hoping for something a little more specific. What does he do? And why do you think he's willing to help frame you for murder? Is he sleeping with your wife?"

Porthos winced, having assumed much the same and not wanted to ask. But Athos shook his head.

"I'd be surprised if he is. She's not that much fonder of him than I am. No, I'd say this was a matter of expediency only."

"So why does he hate you so much?"

Athos pursed his lips. "I - work for a security firm. Rochefort is in the import business, luxury goods, mostly from Spain. An investigation revealed that one of his couriers was - shall we say circumnavigating the due process of the revenue office." 

"Smuggling," Porthos said, and Athos looked up at him, half smiling. 

"Exactly. It was never proven that Rochefort knew about it beforehand, and I'd had nothing to do with the investigation itself, but I'd unfortunately made his acquaintance some months before and he asked me to - make the findings disappear. As a favour to him. Claiming the embarrassment factor and damage to his good name would be harmful to his innocent employees."

"You refused?" Aramis said, and Athos nodded.

"Since then, he's hated my guts. He'd jump at this, he'd see it as fitting revenge."

"Sounds like a lovely chap," said d'Artagnan. "Is there likely to be anyone else at the house?"

"I don't think so. There might be a housekeeper or cleaner around, but I don't think they're live-in. He's not married. And if Milady's there, I'm guessing he'll have got shot of everyone else. The plan won't work if anyone knows she's there."

"Then I guess we'll see what the morning brings." D'Artagnan yawned, and Aramis stood up.

"Come up to my flat, you can sleep there. Save you going all the way home?" 

D'Artagnan smirked at him, but got to his feet without protest. Aramis cleared his throat, and as they walked to the door murmured, "and there is of course the small question of your payment..."

D'Artagnan laughed. "You don't really have to you know."

Aramis held the door open for him and smiled. "Are you turning me down?"

The door closed on d'Artagnan's reply, and Porthos dropped into Aramis' vacated chair with a laugh. "It'll be a miracle if they get any sleep at all." He caught Athos' rather tense expression and frowned. "You okay?"

"Can we trust them?" Athos asked, clearly wondering if they were even now calling the police from the upstairs flat.

"Aramis has been my best mate for years," Porthos said. "He won't drop us in it. I promise. And unless I miss my guess he'll keep d'Artagnan too busy to consider it."

Athos gave a breathy laugh, and then looked across at Porthos. "And what about you?" he asked quietly. "What are you getting out of all this?"

"What do you mean?" Porthos asked.

"I mean - if there's anything I can do? To say thank you..." Athos slid his hand across the table until his fingertips were just touching Porthos' hand. 

Porthos jumped to his feet like he'd been scalded. "No! I mean - what kind of person do you think I am?" Feeling a flush of heat and telling himself it was purely embarrassment. Firmly pushing down the guilty knowledge that all along there had been that secret fantasy in the back of his mind, that Athos would be grateful enough to fall into his arms. And now he was - was he? - practically offering exactly that. 

"I'm just - just trying to help you," Porthos stammered, unable to look Athos in the eye in case he read everything that was going through his mind. "I'd never - I mean - never mind. We should get some sleep." He hurried out of the room, taking deep breaths to compose himself.

He returned a couple of minutes later with a blanket and pillow. 

"Will you be okay on the sofa?" Porthos asked, feeling awkward. "You can have my bed if you'd rather. And I'll sleep out here," he added hastily.

"The sofa's fine. Thank you. You've been very kind." Athos took the things from him, and set them down on the table. They looked at each other. 

"I'm sorry," Athos said. "I didn't mean to insult you."

Porthos swallowed. "And I didn't mean to snap at you." 

They smiled tentatively at each other.

"Well. One way or the other, after tomorrow you'll never have to see me again," Athos sighed, and Porthos felt abruptly more miserable than ever.

"What will you do?" he asked. "You said you wanted your life back, but - will it be that easy?"

Athos shook his head. "I doubt it. Mud sticks. Even if I'm proven innocent - "

"When," Porthos interrupted. "When, not if."

Athos gave him a grateful smile. "I'm not sure my firm will want me back, regardless of the circumstances. I'll probably go abroad. There are always openings."

"Foreign Legion?" Porthos suggested with a smile, and Athos smiled back.

"Always an option."

"Well. Night then." Porthos turned away, and was almost at the door when Athos called after him.

"Porthos."

He turned, questioningly, and Athos nodded to him.

"Thank you. For believing me."

\--

Athos and Porthos were sitting at the table the next morning when there was a sudden loud hammering on the door. Athos spilt his coffee and Porthos leapt to his feet in alarm and went to look through the spyhole.

"Aramis," he growled disgustedly, and pulled the door open.

Aramis sauntered in, smirking. "Morning gents. Hope we didn't make anyone jump."

"You're a knob, you know that?" Porthos sighed. He frowned at d'Artagnan, who'd followed Aramis in yawning his head off and snorted. "Keep you up did he?"

"Actually, I spent most of the night researching Rochefort," d'Artagnan said, patting his laptop bag. "I figure the best way to get myself in is to say I want to do a feature on him. Towering presence in the world of imports, that kind of bollocks. He won't be able to resist a bit of preening." He smiled. "Aramis is coming with me, as my photographer. If there's two of us, it'll be easier for one to slip away and have a nose round."

"Be careful," Athos advised. "It won't pay to underestimate her. And she's not likely to be just standing around waiting to be seen."

"Trust me. Sneaking round posh houses is my speciality." D'Artagnan grinned. "You just sit tight and let us take care of things."

Athos immediately shook his head. "I'm coming too."

"Is that wise?" Aramis asked.

"No, it isn't." Porthos folded his arms. "Are you nuts? You can't be seen anywhere near the place."

"I'll need to identify her," Athos protested.

"We're not talking a birthmark on her arse here, her picture's all over the net," Aramis pointed out. "And I doubt she's had time to have a facelift in the last couple of days." He grinned. "She doesn't even have a beard to shave off."

"For all the good that did," Athos sighed, rubbing his stubbled chin absently. 

Porthos patted him on the shoulder. "You let them see what they can turn up. There'll be plenty of time for confrontations once she's safely in custody."

Grudgingly, Athos had let d'Artagnan and Aramis set off without further complaint, but Porthos could see he was preoccupied. Only reasonable, he supposed. It was Athos' future at stake here.

"What will you do if - if it's not her after all?" Porthos asked quietly, after some time had passed. Athos looked startled, then gave him a bleak smile.

"Twenty five to thirty years, probably," he said dryly. 

Porthos stifled an appalled laugh. "You could still run."

Athos shook his head. "I could. But what's the point, really? What kind of life is that?"

"Better hope it's her then, eh?" Porthos leaned his elbows on the table and regarded Athos sympathetically. He was slumped in his seat, fidgeting with his coffee mug and looking despondent. 

"We should have heard from them by now," Athos sighed, pushing his mug away and looking up at the clock.

"It's only been an hour," Porthos told him soothingly. "They've got to make it look convincing for Rochefort. They're not going to leap on her, they're just going to establish if she's there, yeah?"

"I should have gone too. You don't know her like I do. You don't know what she's capable of."

"Are you saying they might be in danger?"

"Maybe." Athos shrugged. "If she thinks she's been compromised - I'm not sure how far she'd go."

"And you're only choosing to bring this up _now_?" 

"I thought I'd be going with them!" Athos got to his feet, looking frustrated and anxious. "We should have heard from them. I should go after them."

"No. Athos, you can't risk it. Moving about in broad daylight - you'll be seen. And going anywhere near her would be a bad idea. Stick to the plan. Give them time to do their job. Please."

Athos thrust his hands in his pockets looking the picture of dejection, and Porthos couldn't stop himself from going over to him.

"Look, it'll be alright," Porthos said soothingly, resting a hand on his shoulder. To his surprise, Athos leaned in towards him and Porthos put his arms round him in a careful hug.

"I'm sorry, it's just all too much," Athos mumbled. He sounded choked up, and Porthos squeezed him tighter. Athos hugged him in return, arms round his waist, and then drew back a little, sliding his hand down Porthos' arm. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

Porthos smiled at him. "Don't worry about it."

Athos shook his head, and suddenly there was a metallic click down by Porthos' wrist. 

"I'm _sorry_ ," Athos repeated, backing away. "I really am."

"Athos? Athos, what have you done?" Porthos realised in some confusion that he was handcuffed to the handle of a drawer.

"Forgive me." Athos was backing towards the door, something jingling in his hand, and Porthos stared at him.

"Are those my car keys?" he asked in disbelief. He hadn't even felt Athos' hand in his pocket. That hug - he'd been so preoccupied with wanting to comfort Athos, he'd never realised he was faking the distress. "Athos!"

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me. Goodbye Porthos." Athos turned and fled.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

The man who opened the front door looked, d'Artagnan thought, rather like a weasel. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to get this far, explaining at length to the implacable metal grille fixed to the gate that he was here to do a feature on M. Rochefort. Finally, the electronic gates had swung silently open and d'Artagnan and Aramis had marched up the driveway, rather more confidently than they felt.

There had been pictures of Rochefort online, but somehow they hadn't managed to convey the slimy essence of him. He looked like the sort of man who was probably wearing women's underwear. Not, d'Artagnan conceded, that there was anything wrong with that, it was just in Rochefort's case you got the impression the women in question probably didn't know about it.

"M. Rochefort? My name is d'Artagnan, I - "

"Yes. You said." Rochefort peered out at them suspiciously, holding the door firmly in one hand so they couldn't see into the house. "Credentials?"

D'Artagnan handed over his press card and driving licence, and Rochefort scrutinised them carefully before handing them back with a grunt. Satisfied d'Artagnan was who he said he was, Rochefort didn't ask to see Aramis' details as well, and they both breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"This isn't a good time I'm afraid." Rochefort looked over his shoulder, back into the house. He seemed jumpy, nervous, and d'Artagnan and Aramis exchanged a glance. "Can you come back another time?"

"I'm afraid not," said d'Artagnan smoothly. "I'm on a deadline for this piece you see. If you're not able to see us today, I'm afraid the feature will have to go ahead without your input. Just that of your competitors." He dropped a few names that had cropped up in the course of his researches the night before, and Rochefort's expression soured. 

"You'd better come in."

Hiding their sense of nervous triumph, d'Artagnan and Aramis walked past him into the hallway. It was a grand house, a wide staircase stretching up before them and several rooms opening off the reception area. Searching the place would be hard, d'Artagnan realised with a sinking heart. He hadn't realised from Porthos' blurry photograph quite how big it was.

"This way." Rochefort led them into the first room on the right, which proved to be a sitting room. It was ostentatiously decorated, with gilt fittings and velvet drapes, and d'Artagnan had to struggle not to wrinkle his nose.

"What a gorgeous room," Aramis said brightly. "You have a very lovely house sir."

"Thank you." Rochefort nodded slightly, untensing a little at the entirely unwarranted praise. "Forgive me if I don't offer you refreshment, but my housekeeper has the week off." He folded his hands and ushered them to a couch. "Shall we begin? I can't spare you much time I'm afraid."

"May I take some photographs?" Aramis asked, producing his camera. "Background, you understand. For the spread."

"Of course." Rochefort waved careless permission, then looked up sharply as Aramis walked to the door. "Oh, you mean - er - yes, yes of course. Please don't go upstairs though. I would like to retain some privacy. I'm sure you understand."

"Naturally." Aramis gave a half bow and went out, contriving to pull the door mostly to behind him. He looked upwards and sighed. If Milady was here, she would almost certainly be upstairs, particularly given Rochefort's explicit restriction. He wondered how likely the stairs were to creak if he tried to sneak up. Then again - a house this size - there was almost certainly a back stair, perhaps from the kitchens. And no staff on the premises to see him.

Aramis made a show of taking several shots of the entrance hall and staircase, just in case Rochefort was watching, then wandered down the passage until he was out of sight of the doorway. He opened a door on what turned out to be a dining room, and spotted another door on the far side.

This proved to lead to the kitchen, and after a couple of false starts involving a pantry and a utility room Aramis found a door that opened onto a narrow staircase leading up, and gave a mental cheer. All was quiet from the front of the house, and hoping that d'Artagnan was keeping Rochefort occupied, he started to climb.

On the first floor, Aramis gave up all attempts at subterfuge and hurried along the hallway opening doors to each side as quietly as possible. He knew he should be searching more thoroughly, but he also knew it wouldn't be long before he was missed, and in any case he suspected Milady would not be the kind of person to be hiding in a cupboard.

As it turned out, he was right. As he took the handle of the final door on the left, it abruptly turned under his hand, and the door was wrenched inward. He found himself face to face with a striking dark-haired woman, and for possibly the first time in his life, was rendered almost speechless.

"Ah - I, er - good morning, er - my apologies madam, I was looking for the bathroom." He backed away, and she followed him out, looking furious. 

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you a friend of _his_?" The way she spat 'his' suggested that several days living under Rochefort's roof had not endeared him to her.

"I, ah, I'm a photographer, my name is Aramis. We're here to do a feature on - your husband, is it?"

Too late, Aramis knew by her expression he'd fucked up. Members of the press - they'd be sure to know her face. And if they were really here to do a feature on Rochefort, they'd know he wasn't married.

He knew too, that his own expression had given away entirely too much. He was debating whether to turn and run for it, or to shove her back into the room and try and block the door, when she produced a small gun from the folds of her skirt and pointed it at him.

Aramis gave a nervous laugh. The gun was small, gold and decorative, and looked like an ornament.

"Now madam, you don't fool me. That's a cigarette lighter if I'm not mistaken." He forced a smile.

She moved the gun - fractionally - to one side and fired. Splinters of wood exploded out of the nearest doorframe and Aramis ducked.

"Jesus!"

"He won't help you." She jerked the gun impatiently. "Now move."

\--

"What the hell?" Rochefort got to his feet as the door swung open to admit Aramis, walking sheepishly ahead of the gun-wielding Milady. 

Rochefort had been jumpy ever since the loud bang from upstairs a few minutes ago. He'd told d'Artagnan it must have been his cat knocking something over, but had been casting frequent glances towards the ceiling and asking with increasing urgency where d'Artagnan's friend had got to.

D'Artagnan had placated him as best he could, but he too had been getting worried about Aramis. The thick walls of the house had muffled the sound, but even so it hadn't been the thump of something hitting the floor - plus a surreptitious glance around at all the velvet furnishings devoid of cat hair suggested it was extremely unlikely Rochefort owned one in the first place.

Now, Aramis gave him an embarrassed grimace, and sat next to him on the sofa while Milady stood over them with the gun.

"What are you doing?" Rochefort's voice rose in alarm. "Are you insane?"

"He saw me." She gestured at Aramis with the gun. "I had to take measures."

"Why didn't you stay out of sight?" Rochefort demanded. "I told you to lock your door!"

"I heard him searching the rooms," Milady retorted. "It was obvious he knew I was here."

Rochefort spun round and glared accusingly at d'Artagnan. "Did you?"

D'Artagnan hesitated, then nodded. "Sorry, there's actually no article," he added with some satisfaction as Rochefort's inflated accounts of his own importance had been getting on his nerves. 

"You're supposed to be dead," Aramis pointed out, looking at Milady with some curiosity. At first glance he'd never have paired this dangerous and elegant looking woman with Athos, but then he remembered his first encounter with both had involved them pulling a gun on him, and revised his opinion slightly.

"You're in deep shit," d'Artagnan added. "Trying to get your own husband locked up for your non-existent murder?"

"He attacked her," Rochefort put in desperately. "She's been hiding here in fear for her life! He doesn't know she's here, does he?" He frowned. "How did _you_ know?"

"She was seen," was all Aramis would say. Milady gestured impatiently.

"Save it," she snapped at Rochefort, who was still babbling excuses. "It's too late for that. If Athos knows I'm here, I have to go. The only question remains what to do with the witnesses."

"What?" D'Artagnan sat up. "What do you mean?"

She sneered at him. "What do you think I mean? It's not going to involve a pay-off, either." She raised the gun and Rochefort squeaked.

"You can't do it here!"

"Why not? Afraid the blood will clash with your appalling taste in soft furnishings?"

"You'll incriminate me! I agreed to hide you, not to be party to cold-blooded murder!"

"Too late to be squeamish, you're in this up to your neck." Milady turned back to d'Artagnan and Aramis. "Who else knows you were coming here?"

"The police," said Aramis, at the same time d'Artagnan said "Athos."

She smirked. "You're lying. If you'd told the police they'd be here by now. And Athos would never involve them."

"Correct." 

The voice from the doorway made everyone jump. Athos was standing there with a gun in his hand, covering Milady with a steady grip. Rochefort exploded with indignance.

"Is this open season on my house? How the fuck did you get past the gates?"

"Oh, a little thing like an electronic lock wouldn't stop him," said Milady. She sounded mocking, but also slightly amused. "His company probably fitted it in the first place."

"Let them go," Athos said, nodding at Aramis and d'Artagnan. "Shoot me if you must. If you can. But this isn't their fight."

"It became their fight when you chose to involve them." She stepped forward and aimed the gun right between d'Artagnan's eyes, whilst being careful to stay out of grabbing range. "Drop your gun, Athos. Or I'll kill them in front of you, one at a time."

D’Artagnan didn't dare take his eyes off Milady, who stared back at him with a cool resolve that suggested she was entirely willing to carry out her threat. He wondered distantly what Athos would do - whether he was, after all, capable of shooting his own wife, or whether he would just let her kill them.

After what seemed an eternity, Athos sighed and placed his gun on the polished floor.

"Kick it over here," she ordered. When Athos complied, she picked it up and held it out to Rochefort. "Cover him."

Rochefort took it nervously and turned the gun on Athos, who eyed his shaking hand and sweating brow with some misgivings. At least Milady was less likely to have shot him by accident.

"Well. This is neater," Milady said briskly. "Now we can dispose of the lot of you, and no one will be any the wiser."

Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged a look, all of them wondering whether it would help them to tell her someone else knew, or whether they would simply be endangering Porthos.

"Any last requests?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at Athos.

"Yes, I'd like a divorce."

"Oh I think I can do better than that. How would like to be my late husband?" She turned to face him, finger tightening on the trigger, and with the immediate danger removed, Aramis tensed himself to spring.

"Everyone remain where they are!" cried a voice from the hall, and suddenly the door behind Athos was shoved wide open and armed police swarmed into the room. 

In the confusion, Milady hastily dropped her gun into the cushions of a nearby chair. "Thank God you're here," she cried. "Arrest this man, he's trying to kill me!"

To her indignant surprise, two policemen took her by the arms. "Let go of me!" 

Gingerly, d'Artagnan got to his feet and retrieved something from the coffee table. "This might help," he said, holding it out to the officer in charge. "I was taping the interview," he explained, to Milady's baffled glare. "It's still running."

The group was escorted outside, to the sound of Rochefort's increasingly loud protestations of innocence. 

"What I don't understand," said Aramis as they emerged into the fresh air, "is who called the police?"

"That would be me," said a rather embarrassed sounding voice and they all turned to find Porthos standing on the driveway, behind a cordon of police tape. He held up his left arm, to reveal a pair of handcuffs with a metal drawer handle hanging from them. "Stick to radiators if I were you," he said to Athos.

Ducking his head to hide a smile, Athos rummaged in his pockets until he came up with the key and handed it over, together with Porthos' car keys. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I thought it was for the best."

"Yeah, well. Sorry about calling the police," Porthos said. "I just figured - when you said they might be in danger - you know."

Athos nodded, and turned to face the policeman that had walked over to them. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll come quietly."

"What?" Porthos stared. "Hang on, they can't arrest you! You're innocent! We _found_ her!"

The policeman gave him impassive eyes. "Oh, we've got plenty to charge him with sir. Possession of an illegal firearm, conspiracy to pervert the course of justice and resisting arrest, for a start." He lead Athos away, reading him his rights, and Porthos stared after them, stricken.

"But - " he faltered, and Aramis clapped him on the shoulder.

"It'll sort itself out," he said. "Athos hasn't actually killed anyone, after all. And I, for one, was very glad to see them."

"And once I've got this story out, they'll have a hard job finding a jury to convict him of anything," d'Artagnan added. 

Porthos though, wouldn't be consoled. It had been him who'd called the police in, and as he watched Athos be handed into a police car and driven away, all he could think was how whatever happened, Athos was hardly likely to forgive him.

\--

Two days passed. At around eleven in the morning of the third day, a man walked out of a police station at least twenty miles from the one it was widely known to the press he was being held in, and blinked in the winter sunlight, as if not entirely sure what to do with himself.

"Need a lift?"

Athos looked up and shaded his eyes. Porthos was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall.

"How did you - ?"

Porthos smirked. "D'Artagnan's got friends in low places." He pushed himself off the wall and came over. "You okay?"

Athos considered the question. "I'm not sure. They're not pressing any charges," he said after a pause. "Rochefort's apparently singing like a caged bird, and at this stage I'm a complication they don't need. So - I'm free to go."

"That's good." Porthos frowned. Athos didn't look overly happy. "Isn't it?"

"Yes. I suppose so. It's just - what do I do now?" he gestured helplessly. "It's over, but I have no wife, no home, no job. I suppose I'm just - rather lost, right now." 

"You still have a home though?"

Athos shook his head, shuddering. "I have no wish to ever see that house again. Anyway, chances are it's still covered in her blood. I don't imagine the police bothered cleaning up all that well." He sighed. "I suppose I could go to the flat."

"Or you could come home with me?" Porthos offered quietly. 

Athos stared at him. "I'd have thought you'd had enough of me by now."

"Apparently not." Porthos sighed. "Look, I got you arrested. The least I can do is make you a cup of tea, right?" He smiled. "And offer you a bed. You look done in."

"Haven't been getting a lot of sleep," Athos admitted. He had dark shadows under his eyes, and his stubble had become straggly beard. "Apparently police cells don't agree with me." He looked like he was at the end of his tether, and Porthos' heart went out to him.

"Come here." Porthos stepped forward and put his arms around him. Athos flinched slightly, then seemed to give in. He leaned into Porthos' embrace with a breathy sigh of gratitude, and Porthos held him tight.

"Last time I did this you handcuffed me to a kitchen unit," Porthos muttered, after they'd been stood there for a good few seconds.

Athos gave a hoarse laugh. "Not this time. I promise." He rested his head on Porthos' shoulder and sighed. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What for?"

"Everything."

"Well, glad we cleared that up." Porthos patted him on the back. "Come on, let's go home."

\--

Back at Porthos' flat, all was quiet. He ushered Athos into his bedroom, where clean bedding was neatly made up, and nodded to him.

"Get some rest. You look like you could sleep the clock round. Are you hungry?"

"No. Thank you." Athos wavered. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know." Porthos sighed. "Am though. Look, help yourself if you want a shower or anything. I'll leave a towel out." 

Athos ventured a smile. "I definitely picked the right man to take hostage, didn't I?"

Porthos grinned at him. "You'd better believe it."

\--

It was early evening, and dark, by the time Athos woke up. He'd slept in boxers and t-shirt, and was surprised by how soundly he'd stayed asleep. He ventured out to the bathroom, reassured by the quiet noises of occupation from the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, showered and shaved to a more respectable level of unkemptness, he dressed and went to find Porthos.

"Something smells good."

Porthos looked up and grinned when he saw Athos standing in the doorway. "Only pizza and chips I'm afraid. Will that do you?"

"Sounds amazing." Athos smiled, and Porthos beckoned him in. 

"Would you like a drink? There's beer, or wine, or tea if you'd prefer?"

"A beer would be good, thank you." Athos took the bottle he was offered and waited while Porthos hunted the opener out of the drawer. The front was held on with duct tape, and he blushed. "Sorry, that was my fault. I'll pay for the repair."

"Nah. Don't be daft." Porthos cracked open the bottle for him, and toasted Athos with his own glass of red. "You're looking better. Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes, thank you. I needed it. You're very kind."

Porthos smiled quickly and busied himself dishing up the food. He didn't want to examine his own motives too closely, suspecting it was more that he liked having Athos around than from any altruistic sense of charity.

When they'd eaten, Athos helped him wash up, and then leaned against the counter with a second beer, watching Porthos put the plates away. He sighed, and Porthos looked sideways at him, thinking it had been a happy sort of sound.

"Better?"

Athos nodded. "Clean, rested, well fed. I feel like a new man."

Porthos smirked. "Yeah, well. Don't get rid of the old one too quickly, I kind've liked him."

Athos laughed, and Porthos came to lean next to him. Athos looked up, and studied him thoughtfully. 

"Are you sure there's - nothing I can do?" he said carefully. "To say thank you?"

Porthos held his gaze, guilty feelings of arousal warring with guilt in general. "You can't imagine I'd ever expect something like that of you?" he said quietly.

"What if - I wanted to offer it?" Athos breathed.

Porthos stared at him, hardly daring to acknowledge the sudden hope in his chest. "But - you're straight," he objected. "You're married. To a woman."

Athos drained his beer and set the bottle down with a click. "Not for much longer. Besides, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well." Porthos was at a loss. "You assume, don't you? I s'pose."

Athos let his fingers slide over the back of Porthos' hand, and he shivered. 

"I'm bi," Athos said softly. "And no, this isn't misplaced gratitude, and no, you wouldn't be my first."

Slowly they leaned closer to each other, until their mouths met in a searching press of lips, that gave way to the soft heat and slide of tongue. Porthos pushed a hand into Athos' hair, still damp from the shower and pulled him close, deepening the kiss, and for a long moment they clung to each other fiercely.

"Promise me this isn't because you feel obliged to me," Porthos panted when they finally broke off, cupping Athos' face in his hands and resisting the urge to drag him straight to the bedroom.

"I promise," Athos said, equally breathless. He gave a sudden smirk. "If I'm honest, it's got more to do with the fact I've wanted you inside me since pretty much the day I met you."

His words, delivered in an innocent undertone, took a second to register with Porthos' brain. From there, they took a lot less time to register with his cock, and he pulled Athos into another, harder kiss, pushing him back against the wall and pinning him there with his body. 

Athos groaned, pressing into Porthos' arms with a desperate need. Porthos could feel that Athos was as hard as he was, and just as eager.

"Should we fast-track this to the bedroom?" Porthos muttered, one hand burrowing under Athos' shirt to curl around his hip, and kissing along his jaw.

"God, yes." Athos bunched his fists in Porthos' jumper and dragged him towards the door without further discussion.

Undressing hastily, they exchanged shyly appraising looks as they stripped, before settling into the rumpled sheets that Athos had not long vacated. 

"Tell me what you want," Porthos breathed, taking Athos into his arms and kissing him over and over, full of joy at finally being able to do so.

"Will you fuck me?" Athos asked, his whispered plea making Porthos shiver with excitement.

"As many times as you like," he agreed, grinning. Emboldened by Athos' request he reached down and wrapped his hand around Athos' cock, making him groan quietly with pleasure. He was warm and firm in Porthos' hand and Porthos stroked him slowly, kissing Athos again as they both lay down full length and pressed against each other.

Athos spread his legs encouragingly and Porthos' hand dipped lower, exploring between them. "Please," Athos breathed, bucking into the intimate touch. Porthos swallowed, his own cock throbbing with need. He reached over to scrabble in the bedside drawer, with increasing frustration. 

"Hold that thought," he told Athos, climbing awkwardly off the bed. Athos watched with amusement as Porthos scurried out of the door, his erection bouncing lewdly in front of him. From across the hall came the sounds of a bathroom cabinet being rifled, and a few moments later Porthos reappeared, triumphantly clutching a fistful of sachets.

"Knew I had some somewhere," he grinned, dropping back down to the sheets.

"Lucky." Athos smiled and took a condom from him, ripping it open and rolling it onto Porthos' cock himself. "God look at you," he murmured, half to himself. "You're incredible."

Porthos laughed, self-conscious but flattered, and pulled Athos into a heated kiss before slicking himself up from a sachet of lube. He pushed Athos' legs wide and lifted his knees, smiling as Athos wriggled down in the bed to a better position. 

Porthos worked him open with shaking fingers, nervous of fucking up but spurred on by impatient arousal. He'd never in his life gone from first kiss to falling into bed with someone this quickly before, and was conscious that he had no real idea of what Athos liked or didn't like. 

Athos though, seemed more than content with the way things were going, urging him on with hoarse pleas and self-conscious laughter until Porthos finally obliged, pushing into him with a slow care that left them both groaning. 

Once they were both comfortable they fucked hard and fast, Athos encouraging Porthos deeper with every wild thrust. Muscles taut and skin beaded with sweat, they gasped in ragged breaths between kisses. It was a release of tension for both of them after the anxiety of the past few days, and also somehow a sealing of the trust that had built between them from such instinctive beginnings. 

When Athos finally came, wrung out and blissfully exhausted, Porthos held him and kissed him as he shook in his arms, finding his own completion moments later and burying his cries in Athos' shoulder. 

They disentangled themselves carefully, and cleaned each other up. Porthos' belly was wet with Athos' come, and Athos impulsively drew a heart in it with his finger, making Porthos wheeze with surprised laughter. 

Porthos kissed him affectionately, pulling the duvet back over them.

"Was that alright?" Porthos asked, vaguely anxious that he'd rushed everything too much.

"It was more than alright." Athos smiled up at him, trailing his fingernails lazily over Porthos' chest. He was settled in the crook of Porthos' arm, and feeling very snug.

"Have you thought any more about what you'll do next?" Porthos asked, after they'd lain there in contended silence for a while. "You were talking before about going abroad, but - will you maybe stick around?" he said hopefully. "D'Artagnan's story's cleared you in the public eye better than the courts ever could."

Athos looked at him. "Depends." 

"On?"

"Whether there's anything for me to stick around for?" he ventured. Porthos nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, there is. If you want it."

They smiled at each other then, before kissing slowly and warmly.

"You're full of surprises, you know that?" Porthos murmured, after a while.

"Like what?" Athos looked amused.

"Well - gun-toting security specialist, ex-army, bloke who handcuffs his wife during sex - suppose I just assumed you'd want to be on top."

Athos looked at him speculatively, then broke into a smile. 

"I never said the handcuffs were for her."

\--


End file.
